


one more minute

by JenLi



Series: Selection OC 6 [17]
Category: Selection OC
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27316621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenLi/pseuds/JenLi
Summary: Final Fic
Relationships: Jen Li/Arin Schreave
Series: Selection OC 6 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742209





	one more minute

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out much longer than necessary.
> 
> Send me your best reaction pic 🙃

Some days she would wake up and forget.

It was easy to, even after everything. Some mornings she could pretend it hadn’t happened, and she could relax in those brief, blissful moments with the knowledge that it all was okay, but moments later, the memory came back.

“Are you doing alright?” Deirdre asked as they washed Thanksgiving dishes. Her dad stood somewhere close, putting leftovers into Tupperware and probably pretending he wasn’t listening to the conversation. Jen’s abrupt transitional temperament with Deirdre had been a surprise for them all, and even now it was sometimes hard to feel comfortable enough in conversation, but it was a work in progress.

Jen gave only a quick glance to her before resuming her scrubbing of the dishes. “Fine. Why?” She knew, but she found playing dumb got her further more often than not.

Deirdre took a plate from the drying rack and began to dry it as she hummed. “You’ve been quiet today. Just wanted to check in.”

Deirdre may not have been her mother, but she’d always have the sense to know. Jen could tell she wasn’t exactly convinced, but then again, she wasn’t particularly trying to.

“I’m going to Italy,” she told Deirdre but made sure it was loud enough for her dad to hear too.

“Italy?” The surprise was apparent in her voice, but Jen didn’t turn to see her expression. “When did this happen?”

“A while ago.”  _ Two hours ago. _ “I need some time. I’ll see if Idalia wants to come with me. Just wanted to let you know.” Never mind the fact she’d gotten back from Greece two days ago. They didn’t know about that trip. She wasn’t sure if they ever would.

Deirdre didn’t seem suspicious of anything, which Jen didn’t mind considering she was an adult herself. They didn’t have to know what she did. Most people didn’t.

That night, Jen laid in bed again with that fact. No one knew. She used to think if no one knew, then she didn’t have to face the knowledge of the truth, but it always came back. Always.

The sheets in this bed were new and stiff, devoid of the memory of Ian in any form, but he wasn’t the subject in mind when she rolled over, pressing her face to her pillow as silent, painful sobs wracked her body. Only in private she allowed herself to cry and only in private she let herself remember.

She and Arin broke up.

*

Leaving was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do, and funnily enough, she hadn’t had to do it with an audience either time.

Leaving the palace was an anxiety-filled mess of confusion and sobbing because she couldn’t believe he’d done this to her. He’d fucked her and then moved on. That was what she’d thought until he’d come to see her. 

There, she’d ended beneath him once again, for the first time in an actual bed. Nine became eight, and he held her afterward.

“Stay,” he murmured into her skin in between sheets and lazy conversation.

She couldn’t.

*

He stopped in the hallway with his bag while she stood there, a plate of snickerdoodles in-hand. “Tell me to stay.”

She didn’t.

*

Italy was cold, but it was far enough away from the weather of Angeles or Greece that she didn’t mind the nip as she tightened her coat around her frame. Three weeks. She had three weeks to avoid facing any problems with her best friend by her side. The tears were dried. She could deal with the pains in her chest, even if it meant ignoring them.

It was almost funny to her that she sometimes woke up thinking he was there considering the fact that the number of times he’d actually slept in her room was minimal in comparison to her being alone, but she still sometimes woke up to phantom arms around her or kisses pressed to her head, and then there would just be nothing. She was alone again.

Usually, she pushed the thoughts away, but sometimes she let herself cave and imagine him there next to her. His body was already becoming familiar, so it was easy to close her eyes and pretend that maybe it was all a nightmare, and she would wake up back in Greece with limited time but the ability to show something for it. But it had to end the same way no matter what.

*

“Fuck. Fuck, I fucking hate this. Fuck.” She’d been so angry. Angry at him and the world and the shitty situation, but she kept her grip on him as she cried into his chest, leaning into the touch of his arms around her.

“I hate this too,” he’d said, resting his head on hers, and it wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. “You don’t need me to be okay. You’re strong.”

“I don't want you because I think you're what makes me okay. I want you because I love you, and I know you're not ready to say that, but I am, and I want you to know that I do.” She choked on another sob before adding, “I fucking hate the Selection.”

She’d said that then, completely believing it, and she wasn’t sure whether the ache in her chest now was from the unending hatred of the event itself or the fact that she wasn’t in it anymore.

*

If nothing else, Ian made her a better liar.

Ian had taught her to lie through her teeth about anything and everything, a skill she found becoming quite useful these days. Whenever Idalia asked if she was doing okay, it was almost second nature to brush it off, excuses as easy as they ever were. 

_ “No one has to know.”  _ Ian had reassured her of this fact many times, and as fucked up as it was, she still held those words close to her chest.

No one had to know what happened. They would find out eventually, but not why. Jen knew how to keep a secret.

When Wylan asked to surprise Idalia, she’d agreed immediately, not thinking too much about anything else. She could keep that secret, and she could keep a secret from them too.

And she could ignore the pang in her chest when Wylan and Idalia looked at each other in that way they did. Jen didn’t ask Idalia much because she didn’t have to. One glance was enough to know. Still, she knew they did their best to keep her involved and not make her feel like a third-wheel considering this was her and Idalia’s vacation in the first place, but she didn’t mind.

The Friday after Wylan arrived, he took Idalia out for a fancy dinner. He smiled every time he saw her, and every time Jen swore it was brighter than the last. Tonight was no different except for the addition of suits and mascara, but she knew it would’ve been the same even if it was sweatshirts and messy buns.

Once they left, farewells bid and drinks poured, Jen started Gossip Girl again, one show that had been there for her throughout the years. The fact that Ian absolutely hated it was just a plus in her book.

One glass of wine became more, and she really wasn’t sure what type she was drinking, but it was good, and suddenly Dan and Serena’s relationship became too much for her to handle all alone. The phone was in her hand before she could stop it.

There were worse numbers she could’ve called—Namely Ian’s whose number she still had memorized—but Arin’s may have been close to the top of the list.

She heard him swear on the other line very softly, and that only made her smile. “Your Majesty.”

“Hello, Jen.”

The stiff greeting barely registered in her brain, too focused on the sound of his voice. “Jen.” She hummed. “I like it when you say my name.”

“Well, it’s your name,” he said, confusion audible in his voice.

“Yes, yes. I  _ know, _ but it's the way  _ you _ say my name.  _ Jen. _ ” She furrowed her eyebrows. “Jen Li. Jen Li. Jen—What’s my middle name?

“You don’t have a middle name.” There’s a pause and then, “Are you drunk?”

She laughed. “Do I sound drunk?” She hadn’t been drunk for so long. She avoided it at all costs these, the numb feeling too close to how those first times with Ian had felt. Numbed and pained at the same time. This was a different kind of drunk, though. There was no necessity in it, not the same as it was when she was simply wanting to feel nothing.

“From the way you’re talking to me, it doesn’t sound like you’re sober.”

She glanced over to the bedside table where the bottle of wine sat before reaching for her glass next to it to take a sip. “I haven't had that many glasses. Just... three. Wait. Maybe more. I'm forgetting.” She sat there silently for a moment, and when she spoke next, her voice was softer, more serious. “I’m in Italy. Florence.”

“I know you’re in Italy,” Arin responded with a groan. “The saying is ‘when in Rome’ not ‘when in Florence,’ so maybe you shouldn’t have any more glasses.”

She took another sip of her glass out of spite. “But I like wine.”

“Jen, why’d you call?”

That flash of the asshole she’d come to get to know, which she shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was about. “Wylan and Idalia went out on a date.”

“Yes, I know they did. Wylan mentioned it.”

Jen should’ve known. Wylan was his best friend just like Idalia was hers. Wylan would’ve told him about something like this, and in turn, Wylan would’ve had to have mentioned her to Arin in some capacity. “Idalia was so happy when he showed up. I was guilty about lying until then and—” She set her glass back down on the nightstand. “I helped her get ready today. Kind of. She was so pretty, and Wylan wore a suit, and when he saw her he looked at her like she was the only thing that has ever seen, and she looked at him like he was... everything.”  _ He looked at her the way I wish you would look at me too.  _ “I'm glad they're having a good time.”

“Jen…” She could hear the hesitation in his voice. “You’re worrying me.”

“I'm fine. Just alone.” Somehow more alone than she’d felt in a long time, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the alcohol or not. “I missed you.”

“You’re not okay. You’re drunk. And I’m concerned.”

“I just told you. My best friends went out on a date. I'm alone. I miss you. That's it. Completely.” She reached for her glass again and took a very long sip this time.

“Well… you broke up with me, remember?”

That made her pause because somehow in all of this, she’d forgotten that little fact.

*

“So how did we usually start this?”

His hands entwined with hers, he looked down at the mattress beneath them. “I guess we just start.”

She kept her eyes glued to his as she gave one single hop, not laughing a struggle because of how ridiculous this was. They both were both amused at the situation and the unrhythmic bounces against the mattress until Arin finally stopped halted. “I think we’re supposed to be in sync.”

“You think?” She glanced down at her feet, the unmade bed worse now as they stood on it. “Maybe on the count of three.”

Arin nodded, squeezing her hand. “One… Two…”

“Three.”

Two adults jumping on the bed, laughing and smiling like idiots as they held each other there. So many other things they could do and yet… this was enough. She looked up at him as they jumped more vigorously, laughing like they didn’t have a single care in the world, and his smile was infectious and breathing heavy. 

_ I could marry him, _ she thought at that moment, never wanting to let him go.

*

Jen had thought he was going to propose during that trip. Maybe not in the traditional sense but in the way he would tell her it was her and always had been. She’d let herself draw up and play out that fantasy in her head until it was too late, and she was left sorely disappointed.

It was easy to mistake it for that in the beginning.

The promise of a trip, the things he’d said, the things he’d done. In hindsight, it was stupid to think it was going to happen like that, but there was still the presence of hope in her chest.

In the house, a place she could imagine was almost theirs. Cozy enough that if she closed her eyes, she could see herself there with him. Grocery bags scattered over the counter, she held him in the middle of the kitchen, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck because she didn’t want to lean higher. 

“Arin. You sure you don’t want to sleep?”

He was so sleepy, a combination of the jet lag and his general inability to sleep in general, and standing there, she could see exactly how exhausted he was. She knew how he was, though, knew he would deny it, and he simply shook his head. “It would make me a bad boyfriend.”

There were a few moments where she could feel absolutely everything and nothing at the same time.  _ Boyfriend. _ He’d called himself her boyfriend. A sleepy admission, maybe, but still one. “I…” She swallowed, willing herself to act natural. “I don't think it would. I like it when you sleep.”

“Sleep with me?”

She smiled and reached to squeeze his hand with her free hand. “Go up. I'll put away the cold things and meet you there.”

He squeezed her back. “Are you sure?”

She gave him another squeeze before stepping away and lifting the carton of eggs in her hand. “Gotta put these away. I'll be quick. Promise.”

“Quick,” he murmured before shuffling away and heading up the stairs.

Jen had finished putting up what she had to fairly quickly, but by the time she’d gotten to the bedroom, Arin was passed out in bed, stripped from his clothes as he slept in the moderate darkness from the shades pulled down over the windows. She smiled at the sight, knowing she’d made the right decision telling him to come up here, and she didn’t hesitate crawling into bed next to him, draping an arm over his torso as she pressed into him and slept. 

*

“You're not my boyfriend anymore, so quit acting like you are,” she’d snapped that one night, shirt stained with red wine and phone pressed to her ear.

“I… Message received, I guess.”

*

The first phone call was not the last, even if she almost wished it was. Almost. She wasn’t tired of hearing his voice, but she was tired of the tone, distance, and frustration. She wished she could go back to when things were easy, and he talked to her like she was someone he could love, like she actually was.

“Did you pick her?” she asked the next day when he called her again. As short as their conversation had been thus far, it was far worse when she was sober.

“Jen, you picked for me.”

She swallowed down how much that hurt and tried to focus on anything else. “Is that a yes?”

“You broke up with me, so you're not exactly in a place to ask me questions about my relationships.”

After everything. After everything, she couldn’t even ask. “Wow. Okay.”

“I'm sorry... I shouldn't have…”

“Yeah, but you did.” Maybe she was right for it if this was how he was going to treat her. After all, he had the opportunity to do the same, didn’t he? He was the one allowed to break her heart, but no one was going to blame him for it because that was what she signed up for. Now she was the bad guy because she took that opportunity away from him.

He blew out a slow breath while she simply sat on the floor, back pressed to a wall. “You know I care about you and I meant what I said about staying friends.”

She sighed, not even wanting to approach the topic of staying friends because, at this point, she didn’t know. It was one thing to say that then, but now after everything? She couldn’t fathom even thinking about it when she still felt the way she did. “I wanted to know so I don't say shit I regret.”

“Jen…” His tone finally softened, but it brought no comfort. “Please just say it…”

“If you're with her, I'm not going to.” She couldn’t stop the quiver in her lip as she willed herself not to cry. 

“Please just say it. I... We both need closure.” 

_ I love you. I love you, and I hate that I had to do this, but I won’t apologize. _ “It's nothing you don't know, and it's not going to give us any closure. Are you going to tell me?”

“I don’t think we should talk about Clem. It’s between me and her. Because that’s what happens when you end a relationship.”

“Jesus Christ.” That was good to know because she was entirely sure that if he’d been the one doing the breaking up and asked her how her love life was, he would not share the same sentiment. “How long are you going to keep throwing that in my face? I didn't have a  _ choice. _ ”

“You  _ did _ have a choice. I asked you to give me more time and you didn't. Then you made the choice for me. And now you have to deal with the consequences. The same way I've been doing.” Deal with the consequences? Because he was the best at dealing with the consequences, calling her at four in the morning with nothing he actually seemed to want to talk about. 

She got to her feet in an instant, fists clenched as angry tears threatened to spill again. “No, I didn't. I fucking love you, but I couldn't just sit there when you couldn't promise me anything. I would've given you anything, done anything, but you're expecting me to give and give and give without giving me anything back in return, and I'm sorry if you wanted me to wait, but what would I be waiting for, Arin? Forgive me if I wanted you to fight for me, but you didn't. There was  _ nothing _ you wanted to promise me, so, yes, I made a decision you couldn't, and if you wish I stayed, I understand that. Sometimes I wish I did too, but I wasn't okay with being one of the ‘Maybes.’ I didn't want to be a close call. Only me loving you isn't enough, and don't fucking twist this and make it my fault because it's  _ not. _ We're both adults, and I'm not okay with playing teenage games.”

“My mother just died so forgive me if I’m not exactly in the place to make these big life choices. And I tried to fight. I told you to tell me to stay and you didn’t. You knew how I felt—even if I never said it to your face. You knew.” He blew out a breath. “I wanted to promise you everything, but you couldn’t give me the one thing I asked for after everything we’d been through together.”

_ I wanted to promise you everything. _ The words played in her head like a broken record, thinking about what that meant and everything it implied. Everything she’d thrown away. But even then, that wasn’t her fault. Him wanting to promise wasn’t enough after everything they’d been through together—Ian, the Great Hall, his mother’s death, the attic—and there was nothing. All she got was a “Tell me to stay” and a few pretty words, but in the end, there was nothing to hold on to as much as she wished she could. “I didn’t know,” she choked out as she tried not to let sobs wrack her body, but they were coming on fast. “I just—After everything we've been through together, I felt like you should know.” After dealing with all the baggage and pain they’d both come with. After Ian. After being bound and gagged with guns trained at their heads. After having sex in the attic. After she’d told him exactly how she felt. “I didn't know.” The words were choked as she hunched over the sink and cried, even though it was justified, even though she couldn’t tell him to stay.

She was left that day clutching the sink as she sobbed, forehead pressed again the mirror, feeling like her biggest mistake was ever thinking this would’ve worked out.

*

“I broke up with Arin,” she told Wylan and Idalia when she stepped out of the bathroom, the first time she’d ever uttered those words out loud.

*

“Jennie,” he whispered, arms wrapped around her as his eyes watched her intently as if searching for any kind of adverse reaction.

Even if she asked for it, the nickname still took her a little off guard. Her mind can only play back a string of her family saying it, everyone who deserved to, and then Ian. Any words that came out of his mouth were dirty in her head, especially that name, but that wasn’t how it had to be. Arin was someone who she wanted to say it, call her something sweet just like her family could.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the warm sensation of him pressed against her and the cool Greek air. “Again?”

“Jennie,” he murmured before kissing her cheek. “Jennie.” The other cheek. “Jennie.” Her forehead. “Jennie.”

Standing there in his arms, she felt something Ian had thrown away forever.  _ Safe. _ Arin was safe. 

*

Jen ignored him the first time he texted, but she should’ve known it wouldn’t deter him.

She didn’t care if he wanted to remain friends. It didn’t matter if she knew realistically he wasn’t with Clemence either. He was the one sending mixed signals, leading her on when he’d made it so clear he thought they were over. He was the one texting her in the middle of the night. He could’ve been talking to anyone else, but he was talking to her.

“You hurt me, Jen,” he’d had the gall to tell her, as if this was her fault, as if he hadn’t hurt her either. “But I should have expected that. It’s happened before and it happened again. The only difference is there wasn’t a ring on your finger.”

She’d had to swallow down the sting of the blow instead of saying something she would regret just to make herself feel better. It didn’t matter if it was true or not. She supposed he didn’t care about that fact either. 

_ I miss you, _ the text he just sent read, and she might have laughed if she wasn’t sitting in the living room with Idalia and the words didn’t sink her chest as much as they did. He missed her. He missed her, and yet, this was apparently her fault. Her fault for leaving when he’d given her no reason to stay other than he needed more time to make a decision that had been so easy for her. Her fault for his inability to communicate his feelings and somehow assume that she could read his mind. Her fault that he didn’t tell her what those trips were, leaving her to think they were something special for them when he was just going to do the exact same thing with another girl within two days. Her fault because she wasn’t okay with that.

He still texted her like he had the right to after everything he’d told her, and she almost didn’t reply. She shouldn’t have, maybe, left him alone with the decisions they’d both made, but she was never particularly good at staying away.

*

She sat on the counter with him between her legs as they kissed in the bathroom of a grocery store in Greece, and the only thing she could think about was how much she missed this, how much she loved him. They were being too loud, but he was touching places he shouldn’t and, suddenly, nothing seemed to matter except being there with him.

His hand beneath her shirt, he moved to suck into her neck until she moaned his name exactly the way he’d wanted her to, and then his lips were at her ear, whispering exactly what he wanted to do to her. They both know they couldn’t, the rules hanging over them agreed upon not long ago now, but they could pretend just for a moment.

They kept going until it was too much, a few slips of hand too close from being where they shouldn’t, and that was when she pulled away, giving her head a moment to clear before she spoke. “We should probably stop while we're ahead.”

He leaned in to kiss her again before pulling away again. “I've never wanted to stop less.”

She agreed but she didn’t say so, knowing it wouldn’t help any of this. Her skin was so warm and breaths heaving, and perhaps it was a combination of the time they’d spent apart and the fact that there was a certain element of danger in the situation, but she wanted nothing less than to stop, even though they couldn’t. Instead, she forced herself to focus on their surroundings—the little bathroom they’d decided to desecrate meanwhile Arin’s bodyguard stood guard right outside the door, probably hearing a little more than Jen wanted him to. “Of all the places we've chosen to do this, I'd say this may be the worst of them all.”

“The worst decisions can make the best stories,” he told her, leaning closer as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Though... how many times have you put off our wedding?”

She raised her eyebrows as he pressed a kiss to her other cheek, and she couldn’t deny the way her heartbeat picked up at the mention of that wedding. A joke they’d had, maybe, but it still struck a chord somewhere. Maybe of a memory of a happier time… or the hope of a future. “Fewer times than you. I'm starting to think you don't actually want to run off to Fennley with me.”

He pulled back to look at her, and she was once again struck by how lovely he looked like this—breathless and a mess, staring at her with soft eyes mixed with something else. “I’m almost hours a short drive from Fennley. You went halfway across the world.”

When he leaned in to kiss her again, she reciprocated from a few moments before pulling away again, smirking. “I had to make you miss me somehow.”

His eyes stayed on her for a long moment. “You got me to fly around the world for you.” He pulled back more and gave a soft chuckle as he looked back at the door. “What we do for love.”

*

Jen knew venturing out alone at night in a foreign country was not on the list of recommended behaviors for tourists, but it also wasn’t the first self-destructive behavior she’d partaken in during that trip. Most of them were unwitting. She liked to think this one may have been too.

She only snuck out because she needed to be alone. Even if Wylan and Idalia were already sleeping, the house was too silent. Alberto kept ignoring her, and all she could think of were the thoughts that kept making their way into her head. The choice that she’d made. Dealing with the consequences.

Jen spoke very little Italian beyond a few greetings, so she went for whatever snacks looked good at the moment and tucked them under her arm as she continued perusing. She didn’t get a basket this time, just suffered with the few things she had alone. It was only once she was too far in that she remembered why she’d been avoiding grocery stores in the first place. 

Arin had found a way to insert himself into everything. Baskets and grocery stores and—She looked down at her hands. Cheetos. Jen sighed and placed them back on the shelf, heading to the checkout before she made the mistake of find anything else to remind her. Passing the eggs didn’t help anything either.

She walked slowly out the entrance of the store, staring out at the short walk home in the night, but something made her stay where she was standing. More self-destructive behaviors? Maybe, but she couldn’t be sad about Arin if she got kidnapped.

Next to her, Italian she couldn’t recognize was spoken, and upon looking, the owner of the voice was a man. Older than her for sure but young still young with a lit cigarette poised in his mouth as he looked at her expectantly for what she assumed was an answer.

It had to be at that moment her mind blanked on any Italian phrases Idalia had taught her. “I-I’m—No Italian. English.”

The man’s eyes lit up, and he reached up to remove the cigarette from his mouth, blowing out a breath as he did so. “English. Illéa?”

“Uh, yeah.” Some part of her brain told her to run, but the other part was just glad to have a conversation where the other participant had absolutely no idea who she was. It was rarer and rarer now.

The man nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out another cigarette and offering it out to her. “Smoke?” As if noticing her hesitation, he cracked a smile. “Good, I promise.”

A bad idea it was to take cigarettes from strange men in the dark alone in front of a grocery store in a foreign country with a language she spoke very little of, but she supposed there were worse decisions out there.

_ You’re a bad decision. _

She took the cigarette, the feeling of it a little too familiar as she held it out for him to light. Once it was ready, she lifted it to her lips and took a slow drag. It reminded her a little too much of Junior Year when a lot of bad things led to others. Cigarettes were the least bad thing compared to what Patrick’s friends did. 

“You’re very pretty.”

Jen glanced at the guy, at his face mostly after that statement. Nothing a dealbreaker. A little older than she’d go do for, but then again, she’d spent five months with Ian forcing her to have sex with him regularly. Nothing got much worse. “Thank you,” she said instead, taking another drag as she stared straight ahead into the darkness.  _ Arin doesn’t smoke, _ her mind supplied unhelpfully, as if that changed anything.  _ Neither do I. _

“I’m staying close.”

Even with the slight language barrier, Jen could take a hint, and she knew this was her moment of serious consideration before she had to start coming up with excuses. She knew how this went only up to a point because then she would reject them. She didn’t do one-night stands.

Then again, she let Arin fuck her. If that was a mistake, maybe she could make more.

Jen took another drag, breathing it out through her nose and trying to push away the familiar feeling. She hadn’t smoked in years. She didn’t really need to start again either. The night was chilly but not unbearably so, and the sun wouldn’t be rising for a long time. Idalia and Wylan wouldn’t notice. It could’ve been easy to say yes and take up that silent offer, have sex with a guy whose name she didn’t know, and go about her merry way afterward. Arin had been insistent they were broken up, so there wasn’t anything stopping her.

Still, whenever she thought about sleeping with anyone else, it was like her brain wouldn’t even let her consider the possibility. Any one-night stand wouldn’t understand what she needed,  _ why _ she needed those things.  _ Arin knows, _ her mind pushed back.  _ Arin held you when you cried the first time. _ As unhelpful as those thoughts were, they were right. Arin did know. He knew why she was so nervous having sex the first time, why she’d burst out into tears, and he’d held her in his arms, words gentle reassurances because all he cared about was making sure she was okay. Because he knew.

“I have a boyfriend,” she told the man before she really thought about it, immediately hating how natural it felt to say that. She’d never called Arin her boyfriend before out loud, but internally it had felt like the closest descriptor of whatever they had.  _ Had. Have. _ Too many things left unsaid. Too many things still up in the air. All she knew was that sleeping with someone else out of spite would inevitably feel worse than having Arin in mind.

Jen took another slow drag of the cigarette, resting the back of her head against the cold concrete of the building as she looked out into the darkness and wished he was right there next to her.

*

The next morning, Idalia asked if she was okay after an adamant refusal that she would rather stay in bed than run errands, completely misinterpreting the fact that she really was just trying to give her and Wylan some alone time. They had less than a week in Italy left but never went anywhere without including Jen, and even if she appreciated the invitation, she let herself bow out of things. She was content to stay in bed with Idalia’s uncle’s cat to give them some space when they’d been so nice to her.

That was what she’d thought until a certain conversation from the day before came to mind again and then the night before. Her snacks lay untouched next to her bed after being too exhausted to even have the brain capacity to eat them when she’d gone out so late, and then there was the fact her wake-up call was delivered much earlier than she would’ve preferred.

Maybe the tiredness was what gave her the bright idea to text him again, but maybe… she missed him a little too.

*

“I’m going to Tammins… with Clemence.”

She stopped in her tracks, ignoring the sand shifting under her feet, and only after a heartbeat of silence with no other words coming to mind did she reply. “What?”

“I’m seeing her on Friday.”

It only took those words for her to realize what was going on and only another second for the thoughts to start racing through her head all at once. “You’re…” She let go of his hand and looked away, unable to look at him. “What?”

“I—” He cut himself off, which was an answer enough for her. Caught. Caught on something he hadn’t intended to tell her about. “How many times do you want me to say it?”

She could only stare down at the sand, shaking her head because of course. Of course he was seeing her. How was she dumb enough to think that any of this was special? She’d let herself slip up and forget. She was just one of two. Easy to pick. Easy to throw away. “Once,” she replied softly before turning around and walking away, tears in her eyes as she began the retracing of her footsteps back to the car.

“Where are you going?”

Jen kept walking, shaking her head as she ignored him following her. “Can we just go back?”

His hand gently gripped her arm. “Yes... but can you just talk to me for a second?”

She set her jaw and pulled from his grip, finally turning to him and mentally pushing away the look on his face because, at the moment, she didn’t care. “What are you going to tell me that I don't already know, Arin? That you don't know? That you're just trying things out? Well, I don't need to hear it, alright?” She’d heard it enough already in the palace and on this trip, and she was sick of it. She didn’t need to contribute to any more of his confusion if this was what was happening. 

His reaction didn’t reveal much aside from a single huff. “Fine, let’s go back.”

She simply turned back to walking in the direction of the car, focusing on breathing to not let her emotions get the better of her because angry-crying was the last thing she needed at this moment. He was following, but she didn’t look over at him or notice the way he was struggling in the sand or think about much of anything except the sinking in her chest.

After everything, he hadn’t told her. He was having a repeat of this whole affair with a gap of two days and expected her to just be okay with that fact. They had this planned for weeks, and there was never a single mention when he had to have known. He had to. “Were you just not going to tell me unless I asked?” she asked eventually as they were nearing the car.

He stopped walking, so she had no choice but to as well. “I was going to tell you. It just hadn't come up.” He took a deep breath. “And I didn't think it was a big deal because I've never seen you react this way before. At least not when it came to this.”

_ Because she’s never been a factor in our relationship until today.  _ “'It just hadn't come up?' Really? Jesus Christ, how long have we known about this and you never thought to mention 'Hey, I'm also going on a trip with the other girl I'm dating!'”

“I did think to mention it—but forgive me if my first thought wasn’t of her when it came to this trip with you.”

She could feel the clenching in her gut now, growing beyond something that was just hurt. She was angry. “That isn't the point, and you know it's not. You sure found the time to tell her we had sex, didn't you? So what happened to that  _ honesty? _ ”

There was just a moment of pause until he spoke again. “I was just honest with you. Do you want more details? Because you can have them.” He swallowed. “On Friday morning we’re flying to a little town in Tammins called Telluride, and we’ll spend the weekend there in a house just outside town. Is that honest enough for you?”

She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know a single damn thing because the more he told her, the more she wished he hadn’t. She didn’t need to envision both of them in whatever town in Tammins in a house she didn’t need to know about and doing the same things they had. She pushed the idea away because the mere thought was enough to make her want to cry. “Yeah, great,” she told him before starting to walk again. “Have fun, I guess.”

“Oh? Too honest?”

“No, just the right amount. Have a repeat of these last two days with her and pick whichever you like better then. Break the rules all you want.” Maybe if she said it, it would feel less shitty. If she made this hurt, it would be okay.

“Is that what you think this was? Me just having one last hurrah with you both and see how far each of you would let me get?”

She knew it wasn’t. She knew he was the one who’d stopped them from having sex when she’d come fully prepared to. She supposed there was that, at least. He wasn’t just there to get his dick wet and move on to the next, even if he’d seemed rather keen on breaking the rules.  _ I think the plan tonight was to hate on the selection and men who only think with their dicks. _ Then again, maybe Gabriel was right. Maybe she was just a convenient piece of ass for him to try out to make himself feel better after everything went to shit. “At this point, Arin, I don't know, but I'm not going to sit around while you fly off to Tammins two days after seeing me to do God knows what with her.”

“So what are you saying, Jen?”

_ I gave you everything I had. I can take it away too. _

*

She was his first after Felicity. She knew that about him. His second.

He was her first after Ian. He knew that about her. She thought for the first time lying there next to him that Arin was her third, not her fourth because Ian didn’t count. He didn’t deserve to be counted. She never asked him to be.

Arin held her after the first time as she lay pressed against him in the hoodie she’d stolen from Wylan and let herself be. He didn’t make any moves to leave, not like Ian did. He had a million other places to be, but he just held her like she was the only thing that mattered at that moment, so she held him the same way, hoping he understood.

His hand stroked hers absentmindedly, the contented silence only filled with the blessed sound of steady, slow breath. There were no racing hearts or blushing or shaky hands anymore because every single piece of this felt right, and when she finally shifted her head up to see him, it was because she wanted to.

“Hey there,” she said softly, resting her chin on his shoulder as she studied his face. He was always pretty, but seeing the way he looked right now was among her favorite things she’d ever seen. A perfect mess of mussed hair and kissed lips and tired eyes, all because of what they were to each other. 

He reached up to stroke her cheek. “Hi.”

“You’re pretty,” she told him, reaching up to brush her hand over his hair and watching as he closed his eyes and smiled softly at the touch.

“You’re wonderful.”

Her smile widened, and she shifted her head to press a kiss against his shoulder, moving her hand to rest on his bare stomach and the side of her head back onto his shoulder. “I like you,” she told him, but she wanted him to understand.  _ I love you, _ she would rather have said. She hoped this was enough for him to know.

Her hand on his stomach was covered by his, and he rubbed his thumb gently into her palm. “I like you too.” 

At the press of his lips on her head, she let herself settle back into his embrace and gave the softest squeeze to his hand.

Firsts, seconds, thirds. She realized then none of it mattered.

*

Weeks after she’d made him leave, he picked up the phone, and she shut her eyes when she finally heard his voice again

*

Deirdre had been the one to teach her how to hide tear stains on a moment’s notice. It was times like these that she realized how much of a mother this woman had been to her, and she’d never paid enough attention to care.

_ “Two metal spoons iced for ten minutes in the freezer,” she told her, hand just brushing hers because she was always so apprehensive of her. A smart move. “Then moisturize. Don’t skip that step. After that, you can use concealer, but don’t cake it on. It’ll make it look worse.” She gave her a soft smile and reached up to brush away a piece of hair, but Jen jerked away, still refusing to look at her. Even then, Deirdre took it in stride, retreated like she always did. “Then add color. A little blush will make you look more alive, even if you don’t feel like it sometimes.” _

Her stepmother didn’t, however, give directions for figuring out how not to cry when you’d just broken up with your boyfriend. Then again, she’d never cried before when this happened. The two others were just… numb. She’d planned it out each time. Each and every word she’d said to them written on the notes app on her phone. With Landry, she’d known for a while, had just been putting off the inevitable. With Patrick, she’d been a swarm of anger and hurt, but she’d calculated her moves. With Arin, she just didn’t.

She had to admit, though, the blush did help her look alive, and so did the lipstick. The mascara was waterproof and foundation set, and she looked at herself in the mirror—four inches taller than she usually was—and felt… pretty. Not okay or happy or anything close to it, but she’d torn herself apart and could maybe put the pieces back together.

*

Sometimes she wondered what it would’ve felt like if they’d played out the rest of that vacation when she knew where he was going after.

Jen was always good at pretending she was okay, something she’d picked up over the years. That wouldn’t have been a problem. If Arin asked—and she was sure he would—it would’ve been harder because he always seemed to know when something was bothering her, but she was sure they would’ve avoided it long enough. After all, another day was nothing. Greece wouldn’t have been the difficult part. It would’ve been after that killed her.

After, when the plane landed, and she had to face her dad again with just another thing on her mind. After, when she had to sit through Thanksgiving regretting the things she didn’t say. After, when she would inevitably feel sick that whole weekend when she knew where he was

He’d called himself her boyfriend but still was going to see another girl, and she couldn’t be in that type of relationship. She never was able to. It was different in the palace when there were more of them and more boundaries, but this wasn’t like that. This was him hurting her and not even considering it. No matter how much she regretted how things ended, she wouldn’t regret that they did.

*

“I didn’t think you’d call,” he told her, and even she couldn’t deny how nice it was to hear his voice again. It was hesitant, maybe, but it was still soft. Closer to her Arin than the last time she’d heard it.

“I didn't think I would either.” She swallowed, hand stilling on Alberto as she paused for a moment because even if she’d called him, she still had no idea what to say. “I missed hearing your voice.”

“I don't think you'll miss it as much when I say something that upsets you.”

“Are you going to?”

“It's always a possibility it seems.”

“Always a possibility, but you don't always.” There were so many good times, times she was sure he was forgetting with everything that happened. Sometimes she forgot too until they all came flooding back. That was when it hurt the most, when she realized they were… so good together. “I was reminiscing today. Not a good idea, probably, but I like to here and there.”

There was a small pause. “Tell me about it?”

There was a lot she could say, a lot of memories just hanging there, but the first one that came to mind was one she was rather fond of. “Do you remember my birthday? I was thinking about how you held my hand, and I was so freaked out because it was different and I didn't hate it. And the way the author stared at you because the prince came to her book signing.” She smiled softly. “I almost kissed you there in that bookstore, but I didn't.” The first time the thought had ever really crossed her mind. So soon after Ian, her mind had insisted, but Ian wasn’t allowed to play that role anymore.

“Did you really? I... didn’t know that.”

She huffed a small laugh. “Yeah. You were sitting there, and I remember thinking ‘I want to kiss him,’ and I hadn't thought I would think that about you, and I was scared.”

“What were you scared of?”

“Back then, I... I hadn't realized what Ian did to me, and I could still hear him in my head. Like I was betraying him or something by even thinking about being with someone else. I'm kinda glad I didn't though. I liked the kitchen.” She pulled Alberto more toward her chest and set her cheek on his head, just glad that he was there. She really had to thank Idalia for stealing her uncle’s cat. “Do you remember when you made me spill my drink?”

Sticky booths and music just loud enough to be numbing and the laughter of groups of friends and napkins in a holder instead of provided by a waiter. A place she wouldn’t mind going back to. 

“You asked me about the bathroom and if I knew it locked from experience.” His tone was the slightest bit lighter, and Jen wasn’t sure where she wanted this to go, but that fact alone made her heart stop racing just the slightest bit.

“Yeah, I did. And we played footsies under the table like a couple of teenagers on a first date pretending we're just friends.”

“Were we still just friends then?”

She took a moment to think about that, but it was hard to put herself back in the shoes of who she was then. Only five months ago, but it felt like an eternity after everything. July was everything, it seemed. “I don't know. Maybe... friends with an idea of something else?” She laughed softly again. “I remember thinking I wanted you to watch Gossip Girl with me. I had no idea if you would or not. The idea just made me smile.” 

The Prince of Illéa in her bed had been in her thoughts long before he’d actually been there, but back then it was mostly innocent. Ties loosened and shoes lined up at the foot of the bed. She liked to think he would’ve held her, maybe even kissed her, but things just hadn’t worked out that way. 

“I'd have probably fallen asleep.” He let out a soft yawn. “Though maybe that would have been for the best.”

“I wouldn't have minded. I always like it when you sleep.” She shifted a little, continuing to stroke Alberto’s soft fur, and she could vaguely hear him purring. At least something here liked her. “And the attic. I really like that attic.” 

He snorted. “I feel like that has nothing to do with sleep.”

She laughed softly because it wasn’t just for the sex, though she hadn’t minded that part. It was that accompanying feeling that everything seemed like it was going to be okay. She didn’t know how or when, but lying there with him on that pull-out couch in a room that was an entire testament of them and only them. The safety that brought after everything “I happened to get a pretty good night's sleep on that couch, but no, I meant the wall. Did you ever notice what I was painting?”

“It seemed random to me…”

“It was at first, but, um, it turned into a sort of mural for my friends, people I loved. Things that represent them in my head. Elephants for Wylan. The sun for Idalia. Biology books for Evalin. Stuff like that.” Nothing that would win her any awards, but every time she looked at it made her heart swell a little more.

There was a small pause and then, “Am I there too?”

“Of course you are. You're the starfish. I tried to think of something better, but snickerdoodles felt too plain.” She smiled. “Maybe it was better I didn't kill another batch.”

He made a noise of contentment. “I like that, thank you,” he murmured and then fell silent again. “What would you pick for yourself?”

“What I associate with myself?” Not too long ago, the answer would’ve been negative, something she wouldn’t have shared because that was how she viewed herself. A bad person, one who liked hurting people without thinking of the repercussions, but that wasn’t true. It never was. “Hoodies. The soft ones that are a little worn but you love anyway. What about you?”

“Well, you already took sea stars... so I guess seashells?”

“Seashells,” she repeated just because she could. “You really like the ocean.”

“And beaches… Even if you don’t.”

She fell silent, knowing exactly what he was referencing with that statement, but she didn’t feel like drifting back into those thoughts again, so she didn’t refute the statement. “Too much sand.”

“Sand is nice.” His voice wasn’t quite there, and she could already tell where his head was going.

“Sometimes. It's nice... when it's soft but not hot, but when you get your feet wet, you can never get it off. It just clings everywhere.” She sighed. “When I was a baby, my parents took me to the beach somewhere. My mom always tells me how I ate a handful of sand and then was inconsolable afterward, so every time she's taken me to the beach since she tells me not to eat the sand.”

“Well... you didn't eat the sand when we went to the beach... so that's something.”

She hummed. “No, I didn't. You gave me a rock.”

“I did, yeah,” he said softly.

“I still have it.” It wasn’t much of a confession, but it still was one. “I'd put it in my nightstand drawer if I still had one.”

“I... I guess I thought you wouldn’t have kept that after everything.” 

After everything. It was easy to forget in moments like this what happened between them. The raised voices and crying and pleas. They’d had so much of that already, and they’d made it through. Sometimes she liked to imagine they made it out of this one too. “I kept it,” she admitted, doing her best to keep her voice steady because getting choked up was becoming all too common these days. “I… never gave you anything.” Something to hold, something to touch, something to remember her. Then again, if this was the end, maybe it was best if he just… didn’t.

“I never wanted anything from you,” he told her. “I just wanted you.”

*

She went to dinner the evening after he left dressed up exactly as she’d planned to, even did something to her hair when she never bothered with it before. She ate alone, paid for herself, ignored the glances from the waiters as she sat surrounded by couples. She didn’t cry. She didn’t let herself.

In the taxi with broken Greek that she’d searched on her phone, she gave a change in direction that the driver didn’t bat an eye at. Not ready to go back to that silent house, she pressed her back into the seat and stared out at the passing lights of the businesses that were just beginning to close.

The Parthenon was the same as it had been the last time Jen had visited, but that was to be expected for a building that had been standing as long as this one had. In ruins, maybe, but at night, it was easy to ignore that more than anything else she was thinking about. Maybe the fact that not twelve hours earlier, she’d been sleeping next to someone or maybe that he was supposed to be there next to her.

She was wearing the same heels she’d worn on their first date, and now her feet were starting to ache with no one to make fun of her while taking them off. Simple things were always what reminded her, and she had a feeling it was going to be like that for a while.

_ You should’ve told him to stay, _ some part of her whispered, but she forced that thought away, knowing it wouldn’t do anything but make it hurt more.

*

“You’re such a mess,” he told her. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”

She sighed through her nose, closing her eyes as she pulled Alberto toward her chest, wishing he was there next to her. She took what she could get now. “One of the things?”

“There’s a million other things.”

That made her smile softly. “That's a lot of things. Are you sure you know that much?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, barely audible, which made sense for the time. These 3 AM calls were too frequent for him. “I know a lot of things. I can remember.”

“I remember too... Things about you. Things I love.” This wasn’t a good idea, but the sleepiness was creeping in, and her filter always got worse. Maybe some part of her wanted to say it too, but she had mind enough not to admit that. “The way your eyes light up when you talk about marine life. The way you look when you sleep. The way you smile when you're happy. The way you hold me, and you feel so... safe.”  _ The way I want to tell you every day, _ she had enough mind not to say. “And a million other things.”

He made a noise of contentment. “I remember the way you danced with me the night of the ball… and the way you kissed me first.” He sighed. “You… You have this look of defiance when I mention your shoes and I know it annoys me but at the same time I love it… but if you ever ask me when I’m not tired I’ll deny I said that.”

She huffed out a small laugh that quickly settled back into a soft smile. “I love it when you call me bee. Only you've ever called me that before, and it makes me feel like I'm yours.”

“Really?” he breathed out, and she could only swallow at the tone, closing her eyes.

_ You know deep down I’m it for you, Jennie. _

_ His. _ It meant something different when she was with Ian. Back then, it meant lying and walking on eggshells and never saying no even if she wanted to. It meant feeling like she was always the wrong one. It meant feeling like she was the mistake. 

When she thought of Arin, it was different. It was… happiness and smiling and a lot of difficulty for one reason or another. It was saying yes and feeling comfortable when she did and looking at him and knowing she didn’t have to worry. Being his was choosing for herself that she wanted to be.

She wasn’t his, and she wouldn’t ask that of him right then, but she wouldn’t deny she still wanted to be.

*

In his arms, he held her while she cried, the door and his bag just feet away on both sides like a reminder of what had happened between them. They’d tried. They’d tried to work it out here and now, but there was nothing he wanted to do to let her tell him to stay, so she didn’t.

He hummed when she cried now, a habit somewhere he’d picked up that she didn’t know about, and now she probably never would. “Baby, I have to go,” he murmured.

Unable to curb the tears, she squeezed him even tighter and choked out, “Please, just... one more minute.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, loosening his grip despite what she’d asked. “I think it would be best if we just... don’t…”

_ Don’t. _ He’d never refused her before, always held her for those single 60 seconds in his arms because it was all she could ask of him. Maybe she was asking for too much this time.

Her grip loosened on him immediately, arms going to wrap around herself instead as she took a step back. “Okay. Well, I... goodbye then.”

Snickerdoodles lie uneaten on a plate on the floor next to them, a firm reminder that things were different now, and that simple fact was enough for her to take another step away, ready to let him have his space to leave since he seemed so eager to.

“Jen… I…”

She turned around with red eyes and a hollow chest, not even caring anymore what it was.

For a moment, he didn’t speak, just staring at her with this new distance between them, and even if it didn’t feel right, it was there. “Have a good Thanksgiving.”

After everything, she was nothing more than a holiday farewell. She supposed that spoke volumes. This was it.

She turned around and left him at the entrance of that house. He could blame her for that too, but if he got the last word, then she could make the last move.

*

The water was still warm somehow, almost too warm, but for a house like this one, she supposed it had better be. Eyes closed, they stood there under the spray with skin pressed against skin, everywhere to go and nowhere to be except with each other, and Jen found herself settling into position in his arms, head pressed against his chest. It was easy like nothing else was, standing there in that shower in Greece, but it could’ve been anywhere and still felt the same. 

_ I love you, _ she thought until the faintest murmur of words interrupted, and she shifted her head just slightly to look up at him. “Hm?”

He looked back down at her and blinked once. “What?”

She blinked back, unsure now if it was just the hum of water playing tricks on her. Making her imagine things that weren’t there. “Did you say something?”

“Oh.” He swallowed before letting out a small chuckle. “I just said I like these moments with you.”

Her hands resting on his back began softly brushing the skin there, and she raised herself up as much as she could to kiss his neck softly because it was the only thing she could reach. “These are my favorite kinds.”

“I love… them.”

He didn’t give her time to think about the pause before he was leaning down to kiss her, as if reading her mind to know exactly what she wanted, and she kissed him back equally as softly. Nothing escalated because it didn’t have to. Rules stayed rules, and he stayed there, and when she pulled away it was to rest her forehead on his chest as they stood under that steady stream of water, wishing they could stay there forever.

*

“Will you stay?” she finally asked him, the first time after everything.

Arms wrapped around a pillow, his face displayed on video on a cold afternoon in Italy as she lay there alone, she didn’t think twice about the question. The only thing she knew was that she didn’t want to let him go.

*

She opened the door to the house quietly, heart pounding in her chest as it always did when she came here. Sauteed garlic radiated from the kitchen, and three kids ran across the wood floor, one of them falling to their knees when they slipped in their socks.  _ Xander, _ her mind supplied because she learned which was which.

The three dogs greeted her first, and she didn’t shift away when they began sniffing her. A moment later, a resounding “Boys!” came from the kitchen, and out walked her stepmother with an apron and bandana over her head, and she smiled at Jen in that way she always had, but there was something about it that was more real. Less like she was just hoping the night was going to go well and more like she was actually happy to see her. “Jen! How are you? How was Allens?”

She didn’t get the time to answer either question because then she was being hugged, and this one was different than her last. “It was fine,” she lied, giving her her best smile as her eyes shifted to the three boys pretending not to stare. She gave them a small wave, but they weren’t so easily convinced and scurried off somewhere. She couldn’t blame them.

Deirdre gave a squeeze to her arm, like somehow she knew when there was no way to. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”

She knew where it was, but Deirdre wouldn’t take no for an answer, so she followed her up the stairs, clutching her bag even tighter because the memories were coming back. Ones she’d been avoiding for a while.

The hallway was the same as it always was, and her stomach sank as she approached the door, but as one of Deirdre’s hands went for the handle, the other took Jen’s hand in a gentle grip. “I hope you don’t mind, but we did a little redecorating.”

The walls were yellow. That was the first thing she noticed. Brighter, a few more plants, and… a different bed. Different frame, different bedspread, different pillows. All of it was different.

“We kept all of your other things if you’d rather have them,” Deirdre said. “I know we didn’t ask you. We just thought…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but Jen knew. She’d told her dad about the last time it happened, how Ian had snuck into her room in this house and tried to get her pregnant, so unable to fix it, they’d done what they thought might help. They made the room something different entirely.

“It’s perfect.” She took Deirdre’s hand again and gave her a squeeze before letting go to walk to the bed, setting her bag onto the bedspread.

Deirdre left her alone to unpack, but she didn’t get started right away, simply crawled onto the bed and laid back. A text chimed, a greeting from a new Four friend named Martin that he’d just gotten his first phone. Idalia was waiting on a reply too as they discussed how the trip had gone, but she didn’t need to know.

As she stared up at the ceiling to trace the familiar patterns, fingers drifting over the bedspread, she wasn’t thinking about Ian or Arin or anyone else for the first time in a long time.

She laid there with a family downstairs and another across the ocean. A long list of schools that would inevitably accept her. Friends who texted her every day for absolutely no reason except to send dumb pictures. She was never going back to the place she was, she decided then, no matter what.

There was a knock at her door, and when she shouted to come in, her dad peaked into the room before opening the door all the way and giving her a soft smile. “Welcome home, Jenni—Jen. Dinner’s almost done.”

Jen smiled and got to her feet, taking her dad by the elbow and giving him a small nudge. “Jennie’s okay. Let’s go. Unpacking can wait.”

Jen knew she was never alone in the way Ian made her out to be, but walking with her dad into that chaotic mess of a kitchen with dogs underfoot and shouting over the stove fan not to throw footballs in the house made her feel that with certainty for the first time she was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> ✌


End file.
